


Every Day I Get Closer to You

by bromeliadslove



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Breakfast, Depression, Disordered Eating, M/M, hannibal spins his web like the lil spider he is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28551771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bromeliadslove/pseuds/bromeliadslove
Summary: Will has stopped eating, so Hannibal brings him breakfast.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 109





	Every Day I Get Closer to You

Hannibal is at Will’s door.

Will has to do only three very simple things: get out of bed, walk to the door, and open it.

Except Will doesn’t _want_ to do any of these things. Or rather, he can’t--the simple action of pushing the covers away to stand up looms over his head, mocking him in its difficulty. 

Winston scrambles onto the bed, pushing his way over to Will’s side. Will buries his face in Winston’s fur, and Winston licks him, whining slightly.

Hannibal will go away eventually. Will just needs to stay hidden, safe, _away._

Will’s phone starts to ring.

He doesn’t have to answer it.

But somehow Will finds himself lifting the phone to his ear and mumbling a tired _hello._

“Will,” says Hannibal, “are you home right now?”

“No,” Will says.

Winston chooses that moment to bark, like the traitor he is. Will glares at Winston, but it’s too late.

Hannibal has a language of silences, all of them far more telling than what most people speak. Will can tell that Hannibal knows Will is lying. Hannibal probably knew Will was going to lie before Will opened his mouth.

“Would you like me to leave?” Hannibal asks.

Will exhales forcefully, then hangs up. He nudges Winston off the bed, wincing at the click of Winston’s nails on the floor. He makes his way through the house slowly, in the hopes that Hannibal will have left by the time Will gets to the door.

No such luck. Will opens the door to find Hannibal waiting patiently, a container clutched in his hands.

“Breakfast,” Hannibal says, offering it to Will.

Will stares at the container. He knows that he is expected to reach out and take it, but something about the effort of stretching out his hand to take hold of it is too much. His head hurts.

“May I come in?” Hannibal asks.

Will hesitates, then opens the door further, and Hannibal follows him inside. Will is struck by the difference between the cadences of their footsteps--Will’s socks pad along the floor, a whispery brush against wood, while Hannibal’s leather dress shoes tap gently, like someone quietly but firmly knocking on the door.

In the kitchen, Will grabs a fork and Hannibal sets the container of food on the table. Will sits and begins the task of consuming food.

Hannibal watches Will eat, which should probably be weird, but Will knows that Hannibal derives pleasure from seeing the food he cooks consumed. Will supposes it is no different from an artist or a film-maker watching the reactions of the people surveying their craft.

“You have not been eating lately,” Hannibal says, ever so gently, tiptoeing around what they both know is a sensitive topic.

Will shrugs, taking another bite of eggs. He doesn’t quite know all the ingredients Hannibal puts in them, but it all tastes great. Will sometimes thinks that he wouldn’t have issues with eating if Hannibal cooked for him every day, but this is a thought that Will immediately squashes down every time it arises.

“Been busy,” Will mumbles around a mouthful of food.

“The consumption of food is one of our most primal instincts,” Hannibal says. “Humanity has placed a priority on eating that rivals their obsession with sex. This is why I find it . . . _concerning_ whenever a patient or friend of mine chooses to ignore the urges of hunger.”

“You talk about humanity like you are not one of us,” says Will. “I find _that_ concerning.”

_“Will.”_

Will lays his fork down, his hand trembling slightly.

“I just haven’t felt like eating lately,” he says, his voice strained. “It involves cooking. And then chewing and swallowing and washing it all down with water, and it’s just--”

 _Too much._ Everything feels like too much.

Hannibal’s hand covers Will’s, jerking him back to the present.

“It is understandable that you are in a place where you feel you cannot do everything that is required of you,” Hannibal says gently. “You should not feel shame for this.”

“Every time I swallow,” says Will, “I feel like I’m going to choke.”

Hannibal’s eyebrows raise ever so slightly, and he gestures to the food on Will’s table.

“You did not seem to have trouble eating this,” Hannibal says.

“That’s different,” Will says, before his common sense can tell his mouth to shut up. “You made it, after all.”

There’s a slight pause in which Will wants to bury his face in his hands and scream. He did _not_ say that out loud. Dear Lord, what is wrong with his brain?

Hannibal looks at Will silently for a moment, his face an imperceptible mask. Eventually, his lips turn up in what could be a small smile. Will has trouble now, figuring out whether a facial expression is actually a smile.

“Then I will continue to make meals for you,” Hannibal says. “And you will tell me if you begin to slip.” He pauses slightly. “Is this arrangement acceptable to you?”

Will should probably feel guilty about this. After all, Hannibal is a busy man, and Will is an adult who should have his shit together by now. But at this point, Will is too tired to care.

“Don’t put yourself out,” Will says.

And because Hannibal understands Will’s dry language, the biting sarcasm that Will cannot prevent himself from employing, Hannibal offers what Will believes to be a genuine smile.

“Very well,” Hannibal says. “I look forward to making you many a meal in the future.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Leave a comment below or come chat with me on maybe-theres-a-god-above.tumblr.com


End file.
